So...I lied...well, not really...I did warn you I might add an additional chapter where Sam arrives...it's just...it's taking two, maybe three additional chapters. I don't think anyone will mind.

Myrtle had indeed driven Maggie to the hospital, Barry had followed, driving Maggie's car and Myrtle had returned Barry home. Maggie could fuss and complain about her nosy neighbors until the cows came home, but when she needed someone to depend on, Barry and Myrtle were always there for her and they always came through; even if Myrtle never let her forget it.

A well-endowed chatty nurse had no problems pushing Dean out of the hospital and over to Maggie's car. Patting his shoulder and leaning over him to whisper sweet tidbits in his ear, she sure took her sweet old time rolling the wheelchair along the floor too. Despite her animosity toward the elder Winchester and her 70 some years of age, Maggie was annoyed over the unprofessional display of attention shown to Dean by the nurse.

"Move it along. I don't have all day!" Maggie snapped irritably. She was missing her stories! She'd already spent all morning and early afternoon at the hospital waiting for him to have tests and x-rays and whatnot, then waiting for the doctor and the prescriptions and a wheelchair. Yeah, her luck – who the hell ever had to wait for a wheelchair to be found? Maggie Mills, that's who! She was tired, her feet hurt, her legs both ached, she was hungry, she had a headache from squinting all day and she was leaving for home in the next three minutes, even if it meant she left Mr. Dean Winchester sitting in a wheelchair in the hospital parking lot with the big-boobed bimbo. "I'm an old woman wearing Myrtle's shoes and a man's overcoat in 100 degree weather and I can still move faster than you."

"Don't you worry cutie." the brunette cooed to an eating-up-all-the-attention-still-loopy Dean. "Your Granny might be a bit cross now, but once they're fed - you know, seniors - their moods vastly improve." she deliberately wiggled and jiggled because his head was tilted back and he grinned goofily up at her. "There now, you…"

"Trust me, if you think this senior Granny is cross now, just wait until you don't get him to my car in the next 60 seconds." Maggie cut in sternly. "I'm sure he's more than capable of walking and I'm just as sure you have other patients who actually require your assistance."

Dean turned his adoring, appreciative gaze from his current view of creamy bobbing boobies and gave Maggie a wounded look. Something somewhere between a pout and a frown.

"Oh No You Don't!" Maggie sniffed, ignoring him and turning her ire towards the nurse. "And do up your blouse buttons young lady!" she turned her back and marched onward. He was not going to make her feel bad or guilty. He. Was. Not. "Move it! Move along!"

Eager to return home, once Dean had been transferred from wheelchair to backseat, Maggie shooed the nurse on her way without a thank you or even a nod of the head, hopped in the driver's seat, pulled out and….drove towards home at an average of 5 miles an hour. Oh, not because she was an old lady and drove like one but because every bump in the road made the man in her backseat moan and groan and gasp and grunt. Even yelp once or twice.

And she couldn't have that. Oh no, that just wouldn't do.

Well dang it. The doctor had assured her, despite the additional bruising and swelling, Dean was going to be ok. Would be ok – barring any further stupid stunts, dives, crashes and/or falls. And she'd taken silent delight over the fact he would be in pain and experience mind-numbing discomfort but now…..now that she was actually seeing and hearing him, her maternal feelings pushed forward. Oh, those darn, dratted instincts just refused to go away. No matter how hard she tried, her 'female, feminine side, her woman's – okay, her mother's – nature to tend and heal and take care of and make everything all better' was front and center and just a knocking.

Well, damn it.

She slowed down. She didn't even have her foot on the gas pedal, just coasted along….trying to catch a handicapped man cruising along on his motorized Rascal. Oh and look, that cute little hopping bird was keeping pace with her and if that tyke on a plastic trike pedaling furiously on the sidewalk caught and passed her, she was going to deposit Mr. Winchester on the curb and let him find his own way to her house! And she didn't doubt he could do it, he knew where she lived.

Finally hitting what she considered a roadway, she turned right and picked up speed. The ride and road was much smoother and after adjusting her rearview mirror so she could see her backseat, she was satisfied Dean had fallen off to sleep and she dared to pick up speed. She heard no further sounds of pain, but boy oh boy, she'd been wrong about him being asleep! She was going to have to arm herself with a wooden spoon and whop his knuckles whenever he spewed such language once they were home!

Okay then, obviously she was going too fast for his pain tolerance. So….slower then. She huffed and puffed as she eased off the gas pedal! Damn wrong size shoes! At this rate of speed, it would take her half an hour to get home!

"Hang on to your bippie." she warned her backseat and slowly increased her speed again. She was quite adept at dodging potholes and slowing down for sharp curves without jostling the car and by doing so, achieved an acceptable speed she was able to maintain for the remaining drive home without further complaining or cursing from her backseat.

"Thatta girl Maggie!" she congratulated herself. "Woooo-weeee! We're cruising now."

Dean kept one foot on the floor and the other braced against the door. Sprawled on a too-small-for-comfort backseat, arms crossed over his chest, he bit his lower lip, kept his eyes closed and anticipated the sway of the car. By doing so, he was able to remain still and silent as the car sped crazily along the highway.

He battled his stomach as it heaved and zoomed up and down and back and forth in response to the wild ride it – and he – was subjected to. Good God, he hoped he didn't embarrass himself by puking like a car-sick 5 year old! Would it kill the old bat to drive at a sedate speed more common for a woman of her advanced age? Hey, crazy lady, this here car ain't the General Lee. Geez! Did she not know he was in some serious pain back here? Would it kill her to be a bit more considerate of his condition?

He attempted to stifle a groan and failed. Oh-woe! Where was Sammy? Would this rollercoaster ride ever end?

"Almost home!" Maggie sang with forced cheerfulness. The silence from her backseat was now worrisome. Oh, she hoped she hadn't damaged him further. And if she had, how would she know? "Hang in there. Be there in a jiffy." she turned onto her street. Her driveway, sidewalk, lawn and porch were clear, not a person or car or item from various, previous visitors remained. She backed into her garage and lowered the door before coaxing Dean from the comfort of the backseat and into the house. She steered him towards her spare room, wondering all the while why she hadn't left him at the hospital and called Sam or Jody to come get him.

And come get him Sam would! Of that, she harbored no doubts.

Dean in bed, the door opened so the a/c would continue to keep the room cool, she went to the kitchen to retrieve her phone. She had a lot to do before she could relax: clean up the mess on her living room floor, shower, dress, fix her hair, find her teeth and her glasses, make something to eat, somehow retrieve Dean's prescriptions from the drugstore without leaving Dean home alone 'cause Sam would not like, oh no he wouldn't. But first…..

"Hello Sam." she chirped. "Lovely day, wouldn't you say?"

***000***

Flo popped a bubble, eased off first one shoe, then the other. The lunch rush was over and only two well-known customers lingered over dessert. No one was likely to come in before the dinner hour, so who cared if she padded around barefoot for a bit? She owned soap and paid her water bill, she'd go home and take a hot bath and wash her feet. Besides, she wasn't walking all about the diner, just back and forth behind the counter.

"Whew!" she mopped her forehead. "This heat's gonna be the end of me!"

The door opened, letting in a rush of warm air and she stifled a curse. Who the bloody blazes was seeking lunch this time of day? In this heat? And letting all the a/c out? Oh…oh…oh…ohoh….oh no. Not him. Nope. Nuh-huh. Not gonna happen.

"Mel?" she yelled, snapping her gum. "Go away! Oh, I say." she reached under the counter and came out with a ball bat that she held with both hands. "MEL!"

"Right here." wearing the same greased-stained apron and all, the cook appeared beside her with a shotgun in his hands. "Some little shit trying to rob us?" he peered about, looking for the threat. "This time o'day?"

"No." Flo scowled. "But that there's trouble." she pointed the bat at the door. "Close the damn door! You're letting what little a/c I got out!"

"Is he waving?" Mel asked incredulously. "He's waving! What kind of dumb ass robber waves?"

"He ain't here to rob us. Go Away!" Flo yelled. "Be gone you. Don't be bringing no trouble to our door."

"Hey, wait a sec!" Mel growled. "Ain't that…..? IT IS! It's that kid that done broke the floor last night."

"What you be doing here!? Didn't you cause enough trouble last night?" Flo smacked the bat across her palm but without malicious intent. "You ain't trying to rob us, are ya?" she demanded suspiciously.

"Here now you." Mel gave Sam a suspicious look. "You back to say you gonna sue us? Now you just see here…."

"No." Sam said quickly, poised by the door, he held his hands help up in surrender but otherwise didn't move. "No, let me explain. My brother and I, he's the one you fed vegetables and milk." he scowled, he still hadn't forgiven Flo for that scare of his life. "We holed up in a motel. My ankle isn't broken, just badly sprained and we decided to rest up for a few days. But he had to go visit someone….our…she….in Rapid City and he's been in an accident and I need to get to him." he explained in a rush. "See, he ran an errand and…."

"What's he babbling about?" Mel asked Flo. "You got any idea what he's saying?"

"My brother took the car, and I have money, but I can't drive." he waved at his foot. His right, heavily bandaged, wrapped and held off the ground, foot. "The motel desk clerk was kind enough to give me a ride over here."

"What you be wanting from us?" Mel demanded. "We don't owe you nuthin'. We be peaceful folk. Go away."

"No…no. I mean….I was kinda hoping, you know, if maybe you knew anyone who could maybe give me a lift to Rapid City." Sam said with just the right degree of sheepishness, vulnerability and desperation. "I'll pay them, I tried to hire a taxi, but…." he spread his hands wide. "No one would take me seriously."

"All shaggy hair and sloppy clothing." Mel snorted. "An' ya wunder no one believes ya?"

"South Dakota, huh?" Flo mused. "You going to see your brother?"

"Yes. I want – need – to get to him, you know? Make sure he's ok. See him for myself." Sam capped his rising ire and reined in his temper. That greasy-ass-hasn't-seen-shampoo-in-a-month cook had the nerve to criticize his appearance? Really? At least Sam and his clothes were clean. Let it go Sam, let it go. "Be with him." he kept his attention on Flo, suspecting she was the weaker of the two. If they wouldn't help him get to Rapid City, he'd find another way, but he didn't want to waste any more time.

Flo nodded. "Seein' how upset you went and got 'cause you saw him drinking milk and all, yeah, I bet you do gotta go see him." she made a series of faces: frown, scowl, drawn eyebrows, furrowed brow, narrowed eyes, scrunched nose, jutted chin, curled lip, pursed lips. She blew raspberries. "Kinda went and had an all-out freak-out, didn't ya?" she snapped her gum. "HaHaHa!" she laughed then sobered. "Hey, he's okay, isn't he?"

"Accident you say? That car of his's okay, ain't it?" Mel asked anxiously. "That's a mighty purty car, I do say."

"Nothing he can't fix." Sam assured the cook. "He's a mechanic, knows a bit about body work too." he turned his soft-eyed woeful expression on Flo. "He's home from the hospital, but he's a difficult patient and Maggie, she's not so young any more. I don't want her to have to handle him by herself."

"Mel?" Flo nudged him with the end of her bat then put it away. "Help the boy out."

"Fine." Mel puffed. "Let me call up old Bear." he followed Flo's lead and put the shotgun away. "Bear drives big rigs, might be goin' that way, or will anyway, Flo goes and asks a favor."

"You do that." Flo nodded, shooing Mel on his way. "I'll send a nice doggie bag along for your brother. He did so enjoy my strawberry-rhubarb crumb." she paused, giving Sam a critical look up and down. "Guess I outta fix you something to take on the drive. Once Bear gets agoin' ain't no stoppin' 'til you reach where you're goin'."

"Sure, sure, yeah." Sam nodded. "That'd be great, thanks." he took a seat at the counter, grateful to relieve his throbbing foot of his weight. "I really appreciate your help."

Flo patted his arm and poured him a glass of lemonade while he waited. She paused then set a plate of donuts in front of him before toddling off to fix the 'doggie bags'. What a cluster, Sam sighed, sinking his teeth into a cream filled donut. Oooh, they were fresh! He hadn't expected that.

Here he was, sitting in a country-bumpkin diner with a bum foot that throbbed clear to his hip, unable to drive or even hitchhike, though he would certainly attempt it if that proved to be his only way out of town, forced to beg help from strangers. Dean was somehow in Rapid City, South Dakota, with, of all people, Maggie Mills and suffering from some kind of accident. Maggie hadn't been at all explicit with her explanation, leaving Sam confused and befuddled about missing teeth and misplaced glasses and no slippers and a man's overcoat and a chauffeur named Mad Myrtle with big boobed unprofessional nurses and hospitals who issued prescriptions on a piece of paper - who did that these days, Maggie had fussed and there'd been a story about a hook and ladder fire truck and the police, broken rosebushes and coffee tables and sightly spectacles – because a crowd had gathered on her lawn.

Sam shook his head, accepting a refill of lemonade from Flo who gave him a thumbs-up along with the report that Bear was en route to pick him up and deliver him to his destination. He nodded, smiling his thanks, all the while the same thought running through his head; he didn't even know if Dean had been able to take possession of the book.

The diner's two customers continued to slurp coffee and eat sticky buns, as though the cook and waitress running around with guns and bats in their bare feet was nothing out of the ordinary. And sad thing was, in Sam's life – it wasn't.

***000***

Dean lay on his back in the full-sized bed in the unfamiliar room and tried to think. Yeah, wasn't happening. He wore jeans, no shirt, no socks and no boots. Okay, let's see: warm, comfortable, quiet, safe. He was in a bed. Oh, right, he'd already established that fact. Alrighty then, moving forward. Room was stuffy but not hot. A circulating fan set on a feminine table – he squinted, a very feminine table – gently blew welcoming cool air. The room was quiet, yet he could hear muted music and/or voices, so somewhere a TV was on. Time to get up and scout his location.

He twitched a toe.
Said toe protested.
Abused toe sent a message to all nerves.
All nerves responded by tweaking all muscles, causing them to seize.
Seized muscles instructed wayward ribs to stab lung.
Lung, now annoyed, responded by capturing breath and holding it hostage.
Absence of breath made head go all dizzy.
Dizziness robbed eyes of sight.
Loss of sight made ears buzz.
Buzzing ears made stomach rebel.
Rebelling stomach annoyed already annoyed lung.
Doubly annoyed lung was pissed off.
Pissed off lung took delight in sending pain in every damn direction his body possessed.
Or some such map within his body was travelled somehow.

Okay so, couple lessons had been learned: Scouting of current location not necessary, getting out of bed not going to happen anytime soon, he'd best learn to be content right where he was and oh yeah, DO NOT TWITCH TOE.

Finally showered and dressed in her own clothing, teeth and glasses found and in place, her hair combed, Maggie sat down at her kitchen table for a much needed cup of hot tea and some scones smothered with grape jelly. She called the pharmacy where she got her own prescriptions to see if they would fill and deliver Dean's prescriptions but no, they could not do that. She would have to bring them in herself.

Of course she would. Nothing was ever easy or simple when it involved Dean Winchester.

Mmm. She drummed her fingers on the table. What to do, what to do. She could call Barry or Myrtle to either pick up the prescriptions from the store or stay with Dean while she went to get them…wait. Wait just a minute. Why did anyone have to stay with Dean? Oh, right. Because Sam had said so.

Okay then Sam, solve my dilemma, oh so smart one. She waited. Waited some more. Waited until she had eaten all her scones and drank all her tea. Nothing. Nope, no answer floated magically through the air.

Her snack consumed, her dilemma unsolved, she checked on Dean, found him asleep, and went in search of her abandoned broom and dustpan so she could begin operation, 'clean living room, mourn antique coffee table'. That done – and look, she'd only sniffled a time or two while mourning the loss of her beloved table – Dean still quiet, she retreated to her room and began researching first aid on broken ribs. She'd nursed numerous males through countless injuries and illnesses but these Winchesters were a breed all their own.

Ibuprofen – check. (though the doctor had prescribed much stronger pain meds.) (And she needed to get them filled!)
Ice packs – check. (though if the recommended frequency to apply ice was accurate, she would need to buy numerous bags of ice. Her ice cube trays made two dozen cubes of ice at a time and she didn't have an automatic ice maker in her fridge. Why would she? She was ONE person.)
Rest and relaxation to avoid further internal damage – check. (the way Dean was nuzzling his pillow, he wasn't leaving that bed anytime soon!)
Deep breathing and coughing exercises – check. (how hard could that be?)
Daily activity – check. (there were plenty of chores he could do around the house. She would just have him avoid climbing ladders and not allow him to reach over his head.) (And he'd better stay away from her rosebushes!)

Okay then, all was good. Well, there was the extensive bruising and the numerous cuts and scrapes and thorn punctures, but none of that was life-threatening. She knew that because the doctor had said so.

Leaving a note, she picked up her keys and purse and left the house. She wouldn't be gone long and Sam would never even know she had gone and left his brother alone for all of 30 minutes.